The Chief
by NixDucky
Summary: In which Dean needs a distraction.


**AN: Happy Birthday Worm!**

**I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!**

**As this work is a gift for my usual beta, it has not been beta'd.**

**Takes place in season 4. Some dialogue from 4x12 "Criss Angel is A Douchebag"**

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Dean looked around the alley and felt a little apprehensive. This did not look like the sort of place that magician losers would hang around… Maybe those old guys had given him the wrong address?

He stopped at the neon _426 _sign and knocked on the door. The young man that answered wore too much eyeliner in Dean's opinion, but his piercings were pretty interesting. _I wonder what's pierced that I can't see _, Dean found himself thinking. He shook his head to clear it of those kinds of thoughts. He was on the job.

The young man raised a pierced eyebrow at Dean in question and Dean said, "I'm, uh, here to see the Chief?" He tried to sound authoritative, but his voice trailed off towards the end making it sound like a question. Something was definitely off here.

He followed the guy and walked into a large and empty space. It looked like a warehouse. It was very dimly lit, but Dean could make out graffiti on the walls—very definitely of the kinky variety. There were terms and descriptions that Dean had no clue about, and he was no greenhorn when it came to this sort of thing. There was a low but persistent bass line drifting up from under his feet. He could feel the pounding. It was so primal that it made the blood thud in his veins. Dean was not getting a 'magic show' feeling about this place. Dean was getting a 'pervy sex' feeling about this place.

The guy told him to wait and he did, trying to get a closer look at some of the drawings on the wall. _Well, THAT looks uncomfortable, _he thought to himself. His hands were fidgeting, but it wasn't really the 'where's a weapon' type of fidgeting. It was more the 'where's the lube' kind of fidgeting.

_Something is definitely up here… _Dean thought. Then he looked down at his crotch, and snorted. _Yep! Oh boy… _

See there were some things that Sam did not know about his brother. He might have suspected. But he didn't know for sure. And Dean was fine keeping it that way. He wasn't ashamed of his kinks, he just didn't feel the need to share them with his baby brother, thank you very much. And if he'd come back from Hell a little more twisted than when he'd gone in, Dean thought that was to be expected. And with the shitstorm that had been his life since he'd got topside? Maybe letting off some steam would do him good.

So Dean wasn't that surprised when he heard a door open and turned to see a large man (a _very _large man) climb the stairs towards him. The man was _built, _his muscles encased in smooth leather from his thick calves, over his thighs and hips, and up to his twitching pecs. The vest he was wearing was fastened down the front with buttons, which would make it easy to remove, and the man's arms weren't covered so Dean had a pleasant view of his biceps.

_Yessir, those could manhandle me any day… _Dean had forgotten about the case the moment the Chief had entered the room. This was _just _what he needed. A little distraction.

The Chief was wearing a cap, tilted rather jauntily, and was also wearing eyeliner, but Dean liked the way they made the Chief's eyes pop—the blue was just that much more intense thanks to the dark outline. It was then that Dean noticed the slapping sound and he pulled his gaze away from the man's eyes to see what he had in his hands.

_Sweet Jesus. _Dean gave a little shudder. _A flogger. _Those old magic men might've thought they were pulling one over on Dean, but they had just handed him the best night ever. He might have to get them a fruit basket or something.

"You are really gonna get it tonight, big boy. You ain't been had till you've been had by the Chief." the Chief said with a sneer.

Dean swallowed hard.

Switching out of character for a moment, the Chief added, "Oh, and before we get started, what's your safeword?"

Dean was vibrating with excitement. He really needed this. He'd been too long without release, without being able to stop thinking for a couple of hours. _God bless the Chief, _he thought to himself, before saying, "Let's just go with the regular green, amber and red, yeah?"

The Chief nodded, and then switched back to his Dom persona with ease, a wicked grin full of promise spreading over his face, from his glossed lips to his dark eyes.

Dean shuddered again.

He slowly emerged from Subspace to the sensation of something cool being gently rubbed into his skin. His mouth was a little dry, and he licked his lips, trying to moisten them a little. The Chief immediately put the tub of salve down and brought Dean a cup of iced water, which Dean sipped thankfully.

Becoming more aware of his surroundings he realised that he was lying naked on some sort of leather-covered daybed. He was naked, but clean, which was a little surprising. He remembered coming at least three times and two of those were all over himself. There had also been lube. Just… A LOT of lube. The Chief must have cleaned him up while he was still out of it. And he was deliciously sore. Dean catalogued all his aches with pleasure. The skin on his inner thighs burned from the amount of time that the Chief—with his beard scruff—had spent down there. The skin on his ass and the back of his thighs was hot and tingly from the welts the flogger had marked him with, and Dean knew he would be feeling them rub against his pants, and everytime he sat down, for days. His throat was raw in the _best _way. His muscles—arms, legs, stomach, groin, you name it—felt pulled and stretched and overworked. And there was a deep, dull ache inside his ass that Dean could intensify if he clenched his inner muscles just a little. He sighed with a deep sense of satisfaction, and took another sip of water.

The Chief finished rubbing the cooling salve into Dean's skin. Dean wanted to protest, he was enjoying the burn too much, but he knew that he'd be grateful for the aftercare later. The Chief twisted the lid back on to the tub and put it away somewhere, before kneeling on the floor beside Dean and rubbing up against him like a cat. "You were so good," the Chief purred. He placed a small piece of card in Dean's slack hand. "I don't normally do this, people only get one chance with the Chief… But anytime you want a repeat performance, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Dean looked blearily at the card in his hand and saw a series of numbers on it.

"'Kay," he slurred dreamily. His voice was rough, and his throat throbbed when he spoke. Dean smiled.

"You stay here as long as you need. Your clothes are on the shelf over there. No one will bother you, you're safe here. You sleep and leave when you're ready." The Chief was fully clothed again and Dean blinked slowly, taking in the sight of him before he said again, "'Kay," nuzzling into the soft leather he was lying on and drifting off to sleep. Before he went completely under, he felt a light kiss on the forehead and another, "you were _so _good." Dean fell asleep with a smile on his face.

"Dean, where the hell have you been?!"

Dean should've felt guilty, he knew he should have. He'd just dropped off the grid for a good four hours or more, without telling Sam anything. But he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"M'fine, Sammy," he said a little dreamily. He still felt a bit buzzed and so relaxed. He collapsed onto the couch in their hotel room, and flinched a little at the sting on his skin and in his ass. And then he smiled again.

Sam looked at Dean critically. "Dude, what is up with you?" He tilted his head a little. "Are… Are you high?" Sam sounded scandalised. _Oh if only you knew, little brother _, Dean thought with a smirk.

"Just high on life, Sam," Dean sighed happily.

Sam looked suspicious. "I thought you were going to follow up on that 'Chief' lead that the old magician dudes gave you."

"Yep," Dean said with a smile.

Sam waited. And he waited a beat longer. And then he huffed, "WELL?!"

"Wasn't a lead, Sammy. Those asshole magicians were trying to pull a fast one on me."

"Then where have you been for the past four hours, Dean?!" Yep, Sam was pissed.

"With the Chief, Sam." Dean gave his brother a pointed look. It might have been spoiled by the grin he couldn't seem to get off of his face.

"What? Dean, what the fuck—" Sam broke off, suddenly. As if he'd just had some sort of epiphany about his brother.

"You don't wanna know, Sam." Dean replied easily, ready for another nap.

"Um," Sam said. He was lost for words, which didn't happen all that often. He then followed up his "um" with a 'Huh," and decided to leave it at that.

"Oh Sam?" Dean was definitely going to have another nap, but he needed to say this.

"Yeah…?" Sam asked wearily.

"Remind me to send those old magicians a fruit basket."


End file.
